Bite
by Raineisahuman
Summary: A series of mini-bites from the chocolate pie of the trio's day-to-day lives.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing, said me.**

Ron stared at his examination with abject horror. He wasn't ready for this!

He had thought that he was. Hermione had been gently helping him prepare for his muggle studies course, and he was so sure that he had learned everything he needed to know about muggle culture for the test.

After all, how hard could it be to learn a new culture? Hermione did it, (which didn't indicate it would be easy, but he also knew the Creevey brothers were Muggleborn and they figured things out) so he knew it was possible.

The teacher had recommended for the class to read some muggle literature that she had provided, and to watch a few films.

Since he had Hermione's help to prepare him for the test, Ron had thought it a waste of time and drew little doodles in his books while the teacher had dimmed the lights and turned on a "movie", she called it, and slept through it. He was starting to regret it.

But this… Really, what was this stuff? Where was the mention of felly tones, or eckeltricity that made iceboxes work? Light bulbs? This had to be a mistake.

He looked at the questions again. Maybe he had missed a couple easy ones.

1. What is the meaning of life? reference, Monty Python

No clue.

2. Explain the main differences between an opera and a musical?

…What?

3. Give the air speed of an unburdened swallow?

4. Give your favorite color?

...What?

What significance could that possibly have? Ron figured it was probably a trick question, but gamely wrote down purple, just in case the teacher would know he was lying if he had picked a manlier color. Purple was pretty. He liked it. …Would Harry laugh at him?

Ron scribbled out his answer and wrote orange instead.

5. Do muggle drive on the left or right side of the road in Britain?

Hah! A trick question!

Pff, duh! They drive on both sides. Man, that's a dumb question. Write it down…

6. How many strikes are allowed in a baseball game?

Muggles hit each other for fun? Why?

He wrote seventeen.

He blinked at the next question.

"Who the f is Daniel Radcliffe?" He wrote in response. "I wouldn't know or care if he wears boxers or briefs."

When the class ended Ron caught up with Harry and Hermione on the way to dinner.

"You wouldn't believe this test, it was weird. It asked my favorite color, for one."

Harry snorted. "That's a reference to monty python. Any answer would be right, as long as it's the first answer you give."

Shit.

Hermione looked at him from across the table and set down her fork.

"What else was on your test, Ron? Between Harry and I, we can probably tell you what you got right on the test."

Fair idea.

"Er, it also asked the airspeed of an unladen swallow, the meaning of life, where cars drive in England, and about some guy's underthings."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. She nodded first. Harry turned to him and said, "It depends on if it's an African or Eurpoean swallow, forty two, the left side of the road, and when in doubt, always choose boxers."


	2. Hermione

**I own nothing, said me.**

Hermione stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest in silence. She breathed in deeply and slowly closed her eyes, trying to remember the way the trees looked at that moment, silhoutted against the navy sky.

Most of her peers were at dinner in the bright Hall, smiling and talking and quibbling over the potatoes. Out here, however, the darkness was approaching to settle in for the night, and with it had come chill winds. She tugged her worn blue jumper closer to her skin, trying to enjoy its warmth. Her mind was strangely peaceful and still.

She had come out here to think. Harry and Ron would think it so odd that she had not gone to the library for this. After all, she went there so often it was like her personal common room.

But Hermione knew without a doubt that it wasn't what she needed right now. The library was not appropriate in the way that the melancholy blackness of trees and grass and rustling winds were to her now. The library was a place for quiet reflection, for academics and books and learning, and most certainly not the best place to sulk over one's feelings.

Hermione strode forward into the wood. She wanted to be far from everyone else right now. She wanted not to hear anyone else, not to see the candlelight reflected out of castle windows. This was one of the times that Hermione felt the keen sense of loneliness best.

She knew what any other girl her age would do with the troublesome emotions that plauged her now. Lavender and Parvati, she knew, would be whispering in a quiet dorm, making plans to stalk the unwary boy until he finally figured it out and snogged her in the corridors. she had seen them do it a hundred times, but never been invited to share in the jokes and giggling, the late nights perched on one bed with the curtains drawn, the ice cream filched and devoured with tears.

Hermione felt like such a reject right now. Even little Ginny had some girl friends in her year to talk to about things like this, though Hermione couldn't name them.

She side-stepped a particularly loudcricket with care. She now was relying entirely upon her memory of this place and the sounds of night to guide her. She had her wand with her, and could easily Lumos away the thick dust that clouded her vision. She just didn't care to right now.

The problem wasn't that Hermione had no friends, and she supposed she should be grateful for that. She hadn't always had friends. Harry and Ron were loyal, and sweet, and generally meant well, but they weren't the kind of friends one went to with problems like hers.

Oh, if she were to bring it up to her closest friends, Harry at least would try to understand. She knew he would turn so red, and that he would stutter, and silently pray for an escape from the foreign GIRLINESS of it all, but he would keep her secret and try to help her. He had felt the burn of unrequeted CRUSH when Cho went to that ball with Cedric so long ago. (And it was a Crush, not Love. Love was far too serious, and Hermione refused to believe she might be in love.)

Ron, however…Ron would laugh at her. Ron possessed all the emotional sympathy of a goose. Besides, what could he do to help?

Especially since he was the source of the problem.

He would never understand if she told him. Not that she ever would. Hermione was cripplingly shy when it came to matters of the heart.

She thought that her inabilty to talk about her own emotions was, perhaps, some remnant, of the total solitude and social disaster of her first year at Hogwarts, when she was so completely alone, and any information her classmates had on her was simply so much ammunition. Children were cruel enough that one did not need to fan the flames and give them wood to burn.

Still, no matter the reason, the words wouldn't come to her lips.

Hermione groaned loudly. It was such an ugly sound, so fitting for the moment. It felt so good though, just to get it off of her chest.

Experimentally, she let out a little scream.

AAUGH.

It sounded even worse. It sounded like, like, an angry dog. Perhaps some sort of Pug.

Hermione had never felt less feminine.

.

.

.

.

.

.BearWithMe.


End file.
